


The Things They Lost

by Skepsiss



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Meeting, First Time, Gore, How They Met, Kid Junkrat, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Past Lives, Past Relationships, before the omnic explosion, kid 'Rat, loss of limb, roadrat - Freeform, young mako, young roadhog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skepsiss/pseuds/Skepsiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>((So I wrote this as how Roadhog and Junkrat met. This is from Roadhog’s perspective and I worked real hard on this and thought a lot on it so I hope ya’ll like it. I think I will make this a series of things called “The Things They Lost” and do background stuff in here like how JR lost his arm, and how RH lost his wife, etc. This is an opening so it is a Gain instead of a loss, but this is so important to them. Hope you like it, it is very gorey so I am sorry if you can’t deal with that. Just skip the battle bit if you want– story still stands. Haven’t done any editing yet, please forgive.))</p><p>***–***</p><p>He was forty percent RIP tire, maybe twenty percent metal and the rest could possibly be man but it was hard to tell with all the radiation. Streaky blonde hair with singed tips, it looked like he was recently on fire even. His skin an ash gray from the dirt, eyes a blaze of yellow and body gangly like an ill-fed teenager. But he looked strong, looked capable and that smile….</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Killing the Pain

He was forty percent RIP tire, maybe twenty percent metal and the rest could possibly be man but it was hard to tell with all the radiation. Streaky blonde hair with singed tips, it looked like he was recently on fire even. His skin an ash grey from the dirt, eyes a blaze of yellow and body gangly like an ill-fed teenager. But he looked strong, looked capable and that smile….  
\--

It wasn’t that Roadhog was looking for the money; it wasn’t that he needed a change of scenery from sand to more sand; it was the fact that he was bored. Bored and hungry for blood; his vary bones rumbling with the pleasure of gore and bone fragments and skin. He wanted screams, and blood and anything that would ring through his head and make him feel something. The reverse of depression. He reverse of a traumatized man. To kill away the pain. 

He didn’t think about it much; he didn’t hesitate or stop as the vibrations from his motorbike brought him along the road. He hadn’t received a letter—that wasn’t how things worked in the Outback—everything was word of mouth and knowing the right people at the right time. He had heard it from Bernie who had gotten it from Rud who had stolen the word from Quake: there was a brawling job available. Body guarding; brawling, killing. Whatever it was. Roadhog didn’t care. The word had been it paid well and all you had to do was kill. It sounded up Roadhog’s alley, and though he killed anyways, killing without purpose felt blind and unappealing. It wasn’t the guilt or the innocent blood on his hands—hell, he had killed mother, brother and babe before—it was the fact that there was no direction. Killing someone undefended, unarmed and with no fight left in their soul lead to a sour battle. There was nothing there for Roadhog; he wanted to feel the thrill of death and the opening of wounds and men fighting for their lives, him fighting against men and women alike trying to take his life. He wanted that—he needed that. 

So he road, and he rumbled and he came to one of the abandoned Sunken Cities in the Outback. 

There were junk piles stories high here; houses mashed and pushed into piles with metal deemed too useless or too radioactive to use. These were the scraps of Junkers; junk too useless to use for junk. There were piles of it, mountains even and crudely drawn signs pointing towards the heaps. Drawn was the best way to put it, because written was a stretch. It was all phonetically, with blops and spears of paint across it to make smiles or extra arrows.  
_Try oots, this’a way._  
Body guard wann’ed.  
Bring y’ur weap’ens.

Roadhog climbed off of his bike, locking the tires so even they couldn’t be stolen and moved to the mounds. It wasn’t that he was too stupid to think about this being a trap or to question who in their right mind would come here, it was out of boredom and hunger that he went in.  
Archways had been built out of the junk, crude doorways with metal and broken glass poking out of the walls. The smell would probably have been overwhelming, but Roadhog hardly noticed with his mask on. 

So he made his way in, ducked to get into the archway and strode forwards before both entrances slammed shut. Front to back, he was trapped, but Roadhog didn’t stir as he assessed the situation.  
Of course. This was how things worked in Junker-towns. But it was nothing Roadhog hadn’t dealt with before and it was nothing he was going to leave behind now. Maybe he was lined up for meat to be ground; food for the cannibal hoards, or scraps for the heap. Whatever sick job it was; Roadhog was going to fight till his knuckles were raw—and not because he wanted to live, but because this was the only thing that made him feel alive.  
Just as he deemed appropriate to burst forwards instead of backward a crackling voice came through to him.

“This thing on?” 

It was a shrill voice; phlegmy, male, and young sounding. Someone that talked too much or too little. But the speaker tapped the mic, cleared his voice and went on. 

“Wel’come, wel’come friends—foes, family! Whatever ya’ll are you know? Hopin’ there would be more of a turn out but five is fine for me. Either you’re’ll desperate, money hungry, or just really need the job—blah blah, you all know why you’re here. From far and wide they came! Guns, blades, hooks, and bombs! All of ya’ll! Here to fight! I’m Junkrat—your wonderful employer—and your first task… is to kill everyone else ‘ere.”  
Roadhog looked around his domed prison, the leak of oil dripping from the ceiling with his head far too close to the source. He hadn’t much room to move, but he looked about anyways to try and see where this voice could be coming from. So this was the game, huh? Some sick kid wanting everyone to fight to the death for his own entertainment. Didn’t seem all that bad; didn’t seem that out of the ordinary and ‘Hog would be shocked if this wasn’t being broadcasted for some more sicko’s entertainment.  
Whatever the case was; Roadhog was here, and this was a perfect excuse to draw blood.  
Fight for your life? Win? Sounded right up his alley.  
“You win. Then, well… you win.” The kid continued, his voice droning on through the heaps of garbage. “No rules really, just kill everyone else ‘ere. Oh, and if any ya’ll try to escape or fight your way to me know that this whole junk pile is rigged to blow if ya do anything I don’t like. Just a little added insurance, ya know? Don’t mean to keep you waiting boys—and girls—so why don’t we start this little game?”  
Tasked with a job, tasked with pulling and drawing blood Roadhog unsheathed his hook. This better be a good fight.  
The cage of mangled metal and garbage lifted before him, revealing the spotted light of day and a hallowed out arena. It wasn’t a large space, a few meters across with some mounds of cover here for there. The doors were lifting across the way though, and Roadhog had to duck to see out so he wasn’t the last one to see the arena.  
In tandem, everyone started to step out into the sun, getting their surroundings and sizing up each other.  
Three men, including Roadhog, and two women. Gruff looking, all junkers, and blazing with blood-lust or anger. This was typical for all of them then; each with varied weapons.  
“Well? Start already!” The kid yelled again, and Roadhog looked up to see makeshift speakers slammed into the walls of garbage, the kid himself atop all the junk in some sort of toppled over house, watching out over them. He couldn’t make out any features of the kid, he was too far away, but he was small from what could be gathered.  
“Start!” the kid shouted, and as if it was a starting pistol a grenade fell into the middle of the area and they all scattered. 

Wild laughter could he heard from over the loud speakers, Roadhog trudging to the far side of the space and away from the explosion. Stakes were high which meant either everyone was going to go up against this kid or each other in order to live. Roadhog would rather the latter, and with just that thought in mind he launched his hook across the space and speared one of the women. 

Her shouts curdled the air, and Roadhog grinned from behind his mask as the woman bleed. The red soaking through to the sand bellow as she pulled out a shot gun as a rebuff. Her body getting dragged across the soil as she lowered herself to make the pulling harder, firing off a shot towards him. 

Roadhog hunched, threw a barrage of the garbage from behind him to shield the spray as she reloaded. Strong arms pulling her in before firing at her himself. The metal spray hitting her body armour, more shouts as some of the other men in the background were fight each other now. Swords, and guns and blood spray across the ground. 

Roadhog grunted in satisfaction as the woman rolled into him, faster than he could pull and got out of the grasp of the hook—still loading her gun. His focus was pulled though, one of the men was launching towards him, getting away from the opponent and trying to take ‘Hog down in the process.  
Manic laughter could he heard over the speakers, the kid reeling in pleasure over the scene. Seeming narrate the whole ordeal gleefully.  
“Seems that Killjoy has got a good idea--- oh? Better reload faster Kang.”  
Roadhog let his own laughter roll over him, rumble out of his gut as he launched his fist towards the man, taking a knife in the forearm but connecting with the other’s face in the process. His metal rings tearing through flesh as the added impact of the other Junker’s leap and his own punch added for heightened force. 

The crack rang through the arena and Junkrat went wild over the speakers. The stranger now bleeding and huddling to the ground as streams of snot and blood leaked from him—face already purpling. 

“Don’t hide from me piggy,” Roadhog rumbled, his bitter laughter coupling the blow as he took steady firm steps towards the scrambling man. He reeled back, arching his foot for a kick came down on the man. The hook of his boot ramming into the other Junker’s eye socket, and forcing him back into the heap of garbage behind him.  
The man’s scream shattered the arena, body crumbling to the ground as he cradled his face, the gurgle of his own blood drowning himself out as he collapsed.  
Not dead yet—Roadhog reeled back again, stomping hard and crushing the man’s skull beneath his boot. Roaring laughing escaping him as he turned sharp and took a shotgun blow to the shoulder. The pain didn’t stop his laughter, and the shout of pain only added to the terrifying cackle as he pulled back again and hook the woman for a second time.  
It was better this time, she was standing too firm and he was able to pull her apart as she stood. Her feet planting into the sand and the junk and he caught her and sliced right through her—guts and blood and organ spill out of her body as her screams muffled into nothing—dying on the spot. 

“Then there was two!” Junkrat was screaming—the other man had taken out a sleek looking woman—someone Roadhog hadn’t even seen yet. But it didn’t matter, he was going to get three kill today even if he had wanted all four. 

The last Junker standing—sword and hand gun out as he huffed—forehead bleeding and covered in other people's blood. He open fired—pulling out another gun as he shot full force at Roadhog.  
‘Hog dove, hauling up behind the garbage heap with the man without a head. He grabbed fistfuls of junk, and metal and blood and stuffed it into his gun; the old girl rumbling as he cut into his own flesh jamming it into the weapon. 

“Welcome to the apocalypse!” Roadhog yelled, standing up roaring with laughing and aiming at the man. He took a bullet to the shouter before unloading on the other, the pain once again just adding to his laughter as he fired his weapon.  
“Eat this!” 

Streams of metal and blood shot out of his weapon, grinding it all to mulch as he fired at the other Junker. The fragments hitting him in succession and ripping blood from his body. His shouts filled the area and ‘Hog sucked it all in like the greedy man he was—taking steady fast steps to the other and closing the space between them as his shot gun ripped into the other.  
The other Junker dove wildly, trying to find any kind of cover from the spray. Junkrat hollering and hooting over the speakers, drowned out by Roadhog’s own heavy laughter. He could care less what the kid was saying—he was having the time of his life. 

The Junker was still trying to get away, and Roadhog tossed his gun aside—flinging his hook with both hand to get a hold of the fleeing man. He caught him, reeling and pulled the other off his feet. His body flying across the arena, Roadhog using all his strength to throw the man into the side of the trash heap. The mound shook as the Junker flew into the wall, collapsing onto the ground in a bloody mess, but still crawling—still trying to pull himself away.  
Roadhog laughed again, jogging over to the other quickly, grabbing fistfuls of his clothing and pulling him out.  
“I’m gunna make you squeal—“ he rumbled, smiling once again from behind his mask as he soaked in the look of horror in the other’s face. And he threw—tossing the man across the arena again, into a close wall and making blood spray from his mouth from the impact.  
He was just drawing it out now, bathing in the blood and playing with his food. The other Junker was drawing in blood, crying with pain as he hit the ground again and Roadhog was loving it.  
Roadhog moved over to him again, taking each step slowly—his own breathing loud in his ears as he approached the whimper man. Pathetic. Good fight, but pathetic.  
He took heavy steps, grinning down at the other from behind his mask as blood leaked out of his own arm and down into the soil. Standing over him—looming—hook in hand as he huffed out laughter. He slammed down, the point of his hook coming down onto the man and through his skull—the shrill scream he had let out just second before the impact cut short, replaced by that sopping sound of metal digging into brain matter, the sound leaking into the arena.  
The smile still wide spread over the Junker’s face as he wiggled the blade free, watching the other’s stunned and lifeless face drown in blood. Blood everywhere—the leak, the stench, the feel of it as it sent streams down Roadhog’s own arms. 

“Bravo!”  
Roadhog was hearing, the claps and hooting finally getting to him as he slowly turned away from the carnage. Junkrat had emerged from his little house atop the hill; hands high in the air as he clapped for the standing victor. 

“Perfect, bloody beautiful—“ the kid was shouting, not moving and inch as he stared down at Roadhog bellow. Roadhog in turn looking up at the kid and glaring into the sun as he huffed from exertion. The moment was gone and that bubble of life that had been dwelling in his belly this whole battled settled back down into the nothingness he was used to.  
“Emphasis on the bloody—“ the Junker was shouting, tossing something down into the arena. ‘Hog took half a step back from the projectile, only noting once it hit the ground that it was in fact a wade of money tied together with torn string.  
“Ya’re hired mate. Best show I’ve seen yet—ya. How much do you like money?” 

Roadhog looked back up at the kid, not motioning towards the cash lying in the sand. He glared once again into the sun. He didn’t care about money; not really, it was the stakes that were high because money was involved, nothing else. He didn’t care about the score as much as he cared about the thrill of the job. He didn’t answer though, just kept staring with the bloody hook in hand—the tip dripping blood into the sand bellow.  
“Same here,” the kid shouted back, taking long and comical strides across the top of the junk pile. “How much do you like killin' then, huh? How much blood-lust you got?” Junkrat crouched at this, hands on his knees as he grinned down at the Roadhog with this wild look on his face. 

He was forty percent RIP tire, maybe twenty percent metal and the rest could possibly be man but it was hard to tell with all the radiation. Streaky blonde hair with singed tips, it looked like he was recently on fire even. His skin an ash grey from the dirt, eyes a blaze of yellow and body gangly like an ill-fed teenager. But he looked strong, looked capable and that smile….  
“Me too. Knew we’d be on the same page mate.”


	2. Thena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This is a sentimental moment between JR and RH talking about JR’s past and how he lost his virginity. Well, JR is talking and RH is listening. It is not very explicit, he does have sex with a woman, but it’s just him mentioning it offhandedly, what is important is his feelings about the matter. More is said about JR as a person, and how he describes the events… to a point where I don’t think JR realizes himself how hard his life has been. Obviously if you are uncomfortable with hetro-sex don’t read further, but this is not a shippy thing, just an important event that happened to JR that really marked him as a person.   
> Also please note, JR is willing in the act, he is a teen though and confused by it and I think unsure of his sexuality at the time so it seems kinda… awkward. This is also writing a bit oddly, because the middle bit of the fic is from JR’s POV (him telling the story). This is my first time writing a story in this format, please forgive.)

Roadhog rolled off of the younger, his breath heavy as he lay on his back facing the ceiling fan; the soft whirling casting hot air onto him. Junrat was a wheezing mess, his lungs matching the hitch and click of the fan above. He tried to catch his breath as he lay motionless on the bed, his chest rising and falling as the sweat pricked his skin and stung the corner of his lips.

The mattress was too small for the both of them, but they managed as Roadhog hung halfway off the double bed and ‘Rat lay spread in the middle of the mattress, spent and exhausted from their round of sex. Bring such a small human he took up so much space; bruised and dirty he stretched on the bed like a starfish cooking in the sun. The sheets around them messy and sticky—covered in smeared dirt from Junkrat’s skin and already looking worn despite them having only spent one night in the motel.

The younger ran his hand sticky over his abdomen, chuckling and sighing as he felt his own body.   
Dick still out Roadhog grunted and pushed the other gently in the side, urging him to move over as he tried to make room on the bed. The space was far too small for the both of them, but Junkrat wiggled and rolled onto his side, waiting for ‘Hog to situate himself before rolling back into him—soaking in the warmth. He wrapped an arm around the other, or the best he could, kissing idly at his shoulder as his breath came back to him slowly.

“Never been fucked as good as ya do it,” Junkrat cooed, staring up at the man with dull yellow eyes and a wide grin.   
Roadhog rolled his head to look at the other, not pulling away from the kisses despite their ferocity. 

“Just like touchin’ ya mate,” the blonde encouraged, grinning again as he rubbed circles with his stump into the other’s side. “If we’re gunna be honest, I’ad never been fucked by a guy before ya.” 

Roadhog didn’t seem to react to the knowledge, just continued to stare at the younger and run an idle hand through his hair. Junkrat chuckled at the contact and stopped his kissing, instead pressing his cheek into the man’s shoulder for comfort.

“Didn’t ask.” Roadhog replied, letting the cool air of the ceiling fan wash over him.   
“I ‘ad sex before though, don’t go actin’ all special and crap.” He scolded, closing his eyes to the comfort of the other’s hand in his hair. Rambling came naturally to him, and though they hardly shared pillow talk it was still too early in the day to sleep and too dull to start at anything else. Sex had filled the void for the time being, but the hour hadn’t even run out before they were dry and bored once again. So rambling had filled the space between them once again. 

“Nah, well ‘m not takin’ it back ya know. Ya are the best I’d ever ‘ad. Just—dun go lettin’ it get to ‘er ‘ead.” Junkrat coaxed, teasing the other and biting down gently on the fat of his shoulder and watching intently before he was swatted away.   
“Y’r dick though mate—always wann’ed to know what it felt like to have a cock ram—“   
“Shut-up.” Roadhog groaned, looking away from the man and back at the ceiling as he continued to ramble. ‘Rat chuckled at the reaction, rolling onto his back to join the other. He relaxed in the hush, staring at the ceiling and imagining the stars. 

“Says ‘nough,” Junkrat continued after the pause, “did lose it to a girl yah know. She was a couple ‘ears older than me too. Thena…” Junkrat’s tone changed as the mentioned the girl’s name, still wedged up against the elder as he recalled the story. Roadhog’s breathing steady, eying the man as he gathered up the information. It was always better to keep things casual between fucks; but they screwed so much, and in such succession there was no blocking the personal crap from coming out. They were joined, just for now, but Roadhog couldn’t stop himself from wishing silence on the other. 

“Pretty girl, yah know?” Junkrat continued, “well, pretty for our town. She ain’t nothin’ compared to the real beauts I’ve seen ‘round. Well, ya know. The sheilas the cities say are pretty. All that hogwash they feed yah in order for ya to buy all the suit crap and that kinda shit. She was kinda pretty though. Don’t remember thinkin’ much about ‘er at the time. She’us just another girl ‘round the place, good to chat to. We chatted a lot actually… after me mum left. ‘Member ‘er bein’ one of the only one that stuck ‘round. She did leave though, ventually, just like erry’one that can in Junker Towns—ya know the ones. The Towns that can’t keep up with the amount of folks live’n in ‘em. Nothin’ to do for ‘em, I was gunna leave pretty soon too, I think. Can’t come up with it yet, but I was thinkin’ about ‘er—well I guess she felt kinda obligated to me, dunno. Guess she kinda liked me or somethin’, she was one of those that didn’t mind me too much. Nothin’ like you though mate.” The younger rolled onto his side once more, smiling into the other’s shoulder and noting the uncharacteristic silence. Roadhog giving him the attention he deserved for the conversation despite the nature of his rambling.   
“Your point?” ‘Hog asked, running his fingers through the other’s hair again and getting a satisfied hum in return. 

“Dunno, just made me think of ‘er. She… the night she decided to leave, or I guess the night before she actually up and left she came out to me. I lived in some beat up shake edge of town like err’ryone else, slept outside mostly and this was before I had gotten a good handy arm so I was kinda making do and livin’ in the crap pile I could build up. But I was out on one of those dunes just like two hundred meters outta town or somethin’ and she comes and I got a blanket out and I’m starin’ at the stars—cause I really liked to do that when I was a kid—and she came out all pretty in her short skirt and comes and lays down beside me and we talk. “  
“And I ‘member talkin’ a lot with her, dunno, lots of silence around ‘er too but she was a good listener and a good talker and we’d chat about a whole lotta things. Talkin’ about the stars and whether they were happened or made, or how close we all were to the sun. How the town was doin’, and sometimes there would be long silences between us too. I liked the silences the most. But anyways, Thena was real quiet that night, more quiet then usual and I ‘member thinkin’ somethin’ of it but not somethin’ too much. Just making a note of it, you know? The type of silence that isn’t all too odd but odd ‘nough that you gotta make note of it for the time bein’—just noticin’. “

“And I did, and next thing I ‘member is her leanin’ up against me and breathin’ real heavy in my ear. She sounded all breathless like and it had me real concerned at the time, thinkin’ maybe she was gunna be sick or somethin’ was wrong with her. Sos I asks her “Thena you gunna be sick on me?” and she answered so sweet and quiet like as if the words were caught up in her throat. Just, “no” she says. So I turn and look at her, actually look at her cause I was too busy lookin’ at the stars, but I turn and she is starin’ right at me. And now I don’t think I’d ever really looked her in the eye before, or at least I ‘ad never really thought about her eye colour, but then and there I think she has got real pretty eyes. That real deep brown people can get—not the dark colour where they look black but that rich colour. Like an animal’s fur, or chocolate—but I didn’t know what chocolate was at the time so I couldn’t compare that to it. But I remember thinking they were real pretty, and that a good person would have eyes like that. And she made me smile, just lookin’ at ‘em cause they were pretty and she was staring at me like I was the most impressive thing she ‘ad never seen. People… they ain’t never looked at me like that. Can’t think of me mum lookin’ at me like that neither; like I was somethin’ you know? And that made me feel somethin’ at the time.“  
“Sos she was starin’ at me and well, don’t know if that lasted a long time or not but next thing that really passes through my head is that she’s touchin’ me. She’s got her hand down on my bits and at the time that was somethin’ impressive. Just rubbing me through that fabric and what not, nothin’ to nod your ‘ead at today but more than ‘nough to get my attention like. She’s doin’ that got me thikin’ I don’t know what to think or do or what was really happenin’. Dunno it was weird; like my brain fried out. Cause ‘ad seen sex before. I’d seen a couple times me mum havin’ some guy over and it wasn’t somethin’ all that secret or weird that some people make it out like, but I ‘ad never ‘ad someone else touch me like that. I’d touched me course so I knew the feelin’, but it’s somethin’ else coming from someone else for sure. ‘Specially for the first time. Just me—and it was… different.”

“So I’m sittin’ there like an idiot—and get this, get this—she takes me hand all gentle and careful and puts my good hand down under her skirt makin’ me touch ‘er back. And boy man oh man was that somethin’. Ain’t never touched a girl that gentle before or after—didn’t know what the ‘ell I was doin’. And this whole time, she’s lookin’ at me. Starin’ right proper just at me as she gets her ‘ands down my pants and she’s gettin’ me to rub her and this is all still too weird to me. I dunno if I liked it all that much, but I was too young to know what felt good and what didn’t—hell it all felt good! But it stopped when she closed her eyes real tight and let out this noise like some kinda mewlin’ animal. All weak and dishevelled and set up to have somethin’ happen; and I don’t know what’s going on—don’t know ass crack from elbow when she closes her eye on me and stops.”  
“Get this—you’re listening right? She stops and she pulls out a god damn condom outta her pocket—and let me tell you, those things were like gold out in town. Too hard to come by and expressive; I ‘ad seen the wrappers around before, but I ‘ad never seen one before. Think about it! Never seen a condom and I was fuckin’ sixteen! So shes takin’ this out and I’m lookin’ at it like it’s gold, and I want to see and I totally forgot what we were doin’ just a second ago, and I go to make a grab for it but she stops me. She moved so fluid like I didn’t even seen it comin’, didn’t even think to stop her—and she’s on my side with the bad arm and I didn’t have a proper one in yet so I could hardly stop her cause she just moved right on top of me. Just sat up and put her leg around me so she was stradlin’ me and her skirt was kinda up and I already knew she didn’t have anything under it cause I was just touchin’ her. So she’s there and she’s on me and I’m starin’ at her now and the condom cause they’re both above me; too dark to really make out ‘er expression cause it was night and the light from the town didn’t spread out this far. But I remember thinkin’ she looked sad. Well, I dunno about sad, but she felt upset or sad or somethin’. There was just this feelin’ to her so I didn’t say anythin’ even though I wanted to take a look at the condom still. Didn’t really matter in the long run I guess cause I didn’t even ‘member I was hard till she sat down on me and I could feel the denim of her skirt right against my dick.”  
“So’s she got my attention pretty fast, but I still don’t really know what to say cause all I can think about is that we’re probably gunna have sex now and I had ever ‘ad sex and I didn’t know what to do. Figured it would all kinda just come natural like when it came to it, but I wasn’t feelin’ any inspiration either then wantin’ her to touch me some more. So’s she’s still holdin’ the candom and she looks down at me—or I think she did cause it was too dark to really tell—but she looks at me and she says “Jamie, I want you to be the first boy that fucks me”. Cause Jesus man I never thought anyone would say somethin’ like that to me—never had it since, you know me. Ha! Anyway, if I hadn’t been hard already that would ‘ave gotten me right there, and I should have said somethin’… and I might have but I don’t remember sayin’ nothin’. I just remember lookin’ at ‘er and noddin’ my head and reachin’ up to hold her knee cause she was pretty much pinning me to the blanket with her legs like that sittin’ across me lap.”

“Sos she just rips open the candom and I ‘member trying to get a look at it before she took it out, but I didn’t get a good look cause it was too dark, and she put it on. And it felt like slimy and weird and I didn’t like it; still don’t like ‘em even if they’re a life saver. She put it on and it was pretty dark but I could still kinda see, and she was good at it. Like she had practised, but that was pretty impossible cause candoms were too hard to get a hold of and I remember thinkin’ I was real lucky. Cause I got to fuck a girl, and I got to fuck a girl with a candom on too. Like I was some kind of fuckin’ royalty and the candom was a crown I was gunna wear. Seems pretty normal now, when you think about it, but normal ain’t no luxury in Junker Towns. Don’t gotta tell ya that, ya know that… but thini’ about it now. It makes the ‘ole thing seem kinda… not real. Cause thinking about ‘er and her sad look about ‘er and the stars above ‘er and the smell of burning oil and sour air just made it all seem like some kinda dream. That kinda shit… I didn’t ‘ave a good memory, I forget alotta shit, but I thought to myself—‘you gotta remember this Jamie’—so I did. Don’t know why I thought it was so important cause I ain’t never shared it with nobody before, but it was at the time. Remember feelin’ sand on the back of my feet, and the soreness of my bad arm and some kinda heat over us. Cause the air was cool, but around us like a circle was this weight that I couldn’t shake.”  
“But she just lifted up her skirt and I actually got to see her fanny and she was a pretty girl so she was pretty down there too. Actually never seen a prettier girl down there since then, but I think she wanted me to see cause she wouldn’t have lifted her skirt if not and she moved real slow like she was rememberin’ some kind of dance. ‘Er ‘air fallin’ over ‘er shoulders and her rough hands holdin’ onto me. Like we were on some kind of raft out in the water—ain’t never seen the water at the time, but it felt like we were rockin’. The feelin’ they describe ya when they talk about the ocean. That’s what I got… that’s how I felt. Just ‘er sinking down slowly and holdin’ me dick up and I don’t have to explain what it’s like when you get your dick in something. Nothin’ like it—just tingly all over and man the first time you feel somethin’ either then your god damn hand it’s really a feelin’ you’re not gunna forget.”  
“Can’t ‘member how long we did it. But she stayed on top the whole time movin’ whatever way felt the best for ‘er, but I didn’t mind. Cause it felt like something more important was happening either then us just fuckin’. Like she was saying something with her body the whole time, and I wish I could’a seen her face cause I’m sure she had an important look in it. Felt… like a real person for the first time I think. Dunno, can’t explain it that good. But before that… it kinda felt like I was drifting and I can’t think to member anythin’ much before that. Little things, just little things… cause things ‘ad to have ‘appened cause I was sixteen already but I dunno. Didn’t feel like choices up to then. Just like I was livin’ and the world was writing’ the story for me. Not the other way ‘round. I didn’t do anythin’ for me, just to live.”  
“I defiantly came before she did; don’t even know what a girl comin’ is like really. Been with girls, well only fucked the one, but I’ve satisfied some other ladies since and I can never tell when they’re comin’. They just kinda yell and grab y’r ‘air and laugh and tell ya they’re finished. Not Thena though, she didn’t make a noise. Maybe a couple little ones and she sighed a lot from movin’ like the air was just bein’ pushed outta ‘er, but she didn’t make any noises so I didn’t either cause maybe we weren’t supposed to or somethin’. Not like now where noise is all I can make when we screw. Ha!”   
“It was weird cause she defiantly stopped at one point when I was already done but I was still pretty ‘ard cause I was young and I probably coulda come twice if she kept goin’. But she stopped and she sat there with her head hung catchin’ her breath I guess and didn’t say anythin’ for a long time. Just ‘eld onto ‘er knee with me good hand and felt how smooth they were. Just the little bit of ‘air you can get there, but it was soft like and I think… I think I thought she looked the prettiest like that. And I ‘member thinkin’ even then that Thena wasn’t really gunna get anywhere after I left town. She was pretty, but not pretty ‘nough to make it anywhere with looks, and I dunno how smart she was cause she was good at talkin’ but she never seemed to be real passionate about anyone or anythin’ like that and it was hard to find schools or someone to teach ya somethin’ when you lived in a spit of a town. So maybe all she would do in the future was fuck with candoms and sit quietly out at night on the dunes with boys. But she was a nice girl… can’t deny that. She put up with a lot of crud from her folks and the town, just like the rest of us did. And I felt bad for ‘er… cause maybe that was why she was so sad. But she ‘ad asked me to be her first for some reason, and I dunno why. Still don’t really know why… but there weren’t a whole lotta kids our age in town, no one stayed that long, and she ‘ung out a fair bit when we got the chance so maybe I was just kinda the closest kid she knew. Just… convenient. Dunno… she was my first too though, so it worked out like that.”  
“We finished though and she climbed on off me and pulled her skirt back down and took the candom off me and chucked it somewhere off into the sand and she looked at me again. And I wish it wouldn’t have been so dark cause she was defiantly tryin’ to say somethin’ to me but couldn’t and I couldn’t see ‘er face well enough to make out what she was sayin’. Sos we just stared at each other for a while, and I shoulda said somethin’ but I didn’t so she got up and left and I watched her go back into town. ‘Member her disappearing against the yellow street lights, lookin’ like a silhouette cause of how dark it was out ‘ere and how dull yellow the town was. Like some ghost walkin’ off somewhere. Leavin’ me outta of it. Always kinda been on the edge of town, but this time it really felt like I was being left. Didn’t make me sad… just made me think about stuff.”  
“But I didn’t do anything until my dick got cold and I put ‘im back in my shorts and laid out on the dune ‘til mornin’. And I’d done a lot of thinkin’ that night after Thena left, thought maybe I should make somethin’ of all this. People, when they screwed they usually date or at least I thought that when I was a kid. Just seemed right, even though mum had screwed a whole lotta men after dad left and I never saw any of those fella again anyways. But I thought maybe I’d ask Thena if she wanted to date and if things worked out I guessed we coulda gotten married or somethin’ and left Junker Town together to go off somewhere nicer then the Outback.”

“So I went into town and to her place and I hung around for a real long while waitin’ for her to come out, and I ‘member somethin’ didn’t feel right waitin’ out in the street. Just made my gut feel tight for some reason. Nerves probably. I never liked ‘er dad. He was a big rude guy and was pretty scary when I was a kid so I didn’t ‘ang around ‘er place all that much, but waitin’ got to be too much after a while so I went and slammed on ‘er door and no one came. So’s finally her ol’ neighbour came out and she says “Looking for Thena?” So I say yeah I’m lookin’ for Thena cause I was pretty sure she hadn’t moved since the last time I was ‘ere. And the neighbour tells me they’re gone. She says Thena left that mornin’ with her folks. They’re movin’ across desert to Melbourne. So’s I thanked her and I sat on the porch and waited anyways. Musta sat there for hours thinkin’ about Thena and about how I shoulda said somethin’ the night before she left cause I didn’t know she was movin’ or that she was goin’ to Melbourne any time soon. But she had gotten out so I couldn’t have been all that mad at ‘er, everyone wanted out and across the desert was a good as any. She was one of the lucky ones in town though, both parents and no siblins’ even if they said her dad fucked boys on the side. She still ‘ad it pretty good, dunno why they made such a big deal about ‘er dad though. Guess they meant kids. But I was ‘appy for her in the end, just wish I coulda said somethin’ to ‘er at the time, cause I never saw Thena again and I kinda wish I coulda.”   
Junkrat stopped talking, cheek pressed up against the other’s shoulder as he recalled the scene. The vigour in his voice long since gone as he pulled up images of his old home and Thena.   
“Left a few months later,” the younger concluded, rolling onto her back and propping his one good arm under his head. “Got outta there, ya know… left like everyone else did.”

Junkrat frowned gently at the ceiling, pulling up the feelings of a girl that he possibly could have loved and never got the chance to, Roadhog staring at him without a word passing his lips. They had both lived lives like that; moving too fast and too frequently to ever really create those bonds. Junkrat still so young and Roadhog worn to the emotion long ago despite the changes he had lived through.   
“Want to look for her?” ‘Hog finally asked, running his fingers through the other’s hair once again. 

“Nawh,” Junkrat replied, waving his stump in the air and moving to scramble on top of the other. “Don’t want to ruin that imagine of what I got of ‘er in my head, you know? Not point in completely ruining the perfect image of a perfect pussy, right?” He chuckled into the fat of the other’s chest, getting shoved off in succession at the vulgar words. 

Junkrat fell over laughing, hitting the bed and falling onto the ground in a fit of laughter. Roadhog grunting and glaring at the younger man, ready to move on from their shitty hotel room and back into the Outback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on tumblr under Skepsiss


	3. A hand to the left is a right to God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((So the long anticipated build up to how Junkrat lost his arm, stay tuned. The chapters will be split because the next part is RH’s POV))

Jamie smeared grease across his forehead, the sticky slick material stinging his eyes as his own sweat dripped parts of it into his eyes. Nervous sweat. It wasn’t from heat, like it usually was, the sweat instead beading on his forehead from stress and anxiety. 

 

The teen clutched a small satchel to his chest, his nervous fingers twitching against the burlap; the fibres getting caught in his skin. He clicked his tongue, lifting his right hand to his lips and biting the fibres free, his eyes a wild mess.   
He stayed crouched behind a fallen tin roof; the metal having been eaten through in parts by rust and attempted plant growth. It was thin cover, and if anyone decided to use a gun he was done for. But he was small; a skinny fifteen year old with gangly limbs and a sharp face. Nothing to look at really; no strength in him to be used for work, his most prominent feature being his ridiculous height at his age; no handsome features to be used for money or some kind of pleasure. He was just a kid still, face pimpled and scratched, seeming to carry a story of dirt and grease along with it. In fact, the grease on his cheeks and forehead now had a story to it.

He had taken refuge under an old truck a few blocks back, clutching the satchel to his chest as his head rubbed against the grease and sharp metal of the underbelly of the beast. A refuge from the men after him. A refuge of desperation since he had run the four blocks to get there—ducking and weaving through alleyways and garbage piles. He’d heard the men yelling after him, the whiz of bullets and the clink of them striking metal around him. The truck had given him enough time to hide, to lose the men for an instant. He had managed to worm his way out, run three block and duck behind the fallen tin roof, body trembling and face sweating.   
Jamie could hear shouting from down the block, the slam of metal and the banging of doors as the husky voices of men too intimidating and too rough for his liking. He had stolen something. Maybe he had been a bit greedy, a little… unreasonable with his needs. Two apples, a crust of bread and a handful of pain killers had maybe been a bit too noticeable to steal. Or, it could have just as easily been the people he was stealing from. He had needed them though– food for his belly since it was five days empty and the pain killers… you could always use pain killers.   
Jamison put his hand over his mouth as he leaned against the tin roof, blinking the sweat and the grease out of his eyes as he saw one of the thugs running from yard to yard across the street. Distantly a dog barked and howled, and a couple of gun shots could be heard way off. They weren’t for him, but every noise felt like it was a signature on his death certificate; every little creep of the Out Back and stretched yell was him being pulled down to the fiery pits of hell.   
Jamie squeezed his eyes shut, the steady hammer of his heart against his chest as he heard footsteps. 

“You seen the kid yet?” A heavy voiced asked.   
“Fucking… rut ain’t nowhere.” Another man panted, too close for comfort. 

Jamie’s body shook, clutching at the bag and praying they didn’t check any further. They were right there. Standing just there. Just behind him. He could practically feel their breath down his neck.   
But he needed the food. He really had needed it. Even if he had ended up selling the pain killers he still would have needed it; a kid at fifteen wasn’t meant to fend for themselves in the Out Back. Everything tried to kill you in the Out Back: every man, every beast, even the God damn sun tried to murder you in the day– and then again at night when it got so cold you could shatter your own teeth chattering so much.  
But he stood there now, crouched behind a pile of metal, blonde hair streaked with grease and plastered to his scalp. He needed to skip town; he’d warn his welcome out here—stealing from Loncord, the Silver Fisher King. They were one of the strongest gangs in the area right now; the most money, the most guns and the biggest men. They had started bringing in goods to the town, feeding themselves and ‘employing’ the kids in the area with or without parents. The whole town was going to be headquarters to Loncord soon, and Jamie could see it moving that way. He wasn’t on the in, and he wasn’t worth anything to the Silver Fisher King. He’d tried to work for him, tried to gadget and build his way into the inner ring, but they weren’t interested in a fifteen year old that talked too much, and needed too much food to sustain him. He wasn’t anyone’s kid—anyone still alive—and he didn’t have any values they could see beyond a hand that could hold a gun. 

The men were starting to leave; Jamison could hear their boots on the crunch of the pavement.   
“Give it another go,” one of them was calling, demanding another search for Jamie.   
“Boss won’t like it if we lose ‘im.”  
The crunch of boots; pebbles and rocks being caught up under the rubber as Jamison bit his lip. The warn and dry flesh cracking under the pressure, bleeding into his mouth as he clutched at the bag. Tears were starting to swell in his eyes, his ducts stinging with grease and dirt as he let the streams of water roll down his cheeks in fat swell. He bit back sobs—the fear of being caught, that pound and push inside of his chest as his stomach swell with stormy waves. He had never seen the sea, but he had heard about it, and his stomach felt like what those books described of storms. Water sloshing, digging, turning inside of him.   
The men were getting closer now, he could hear the splinter and bang of them moving up and down the block—over a street, back again, to the car and around. He couldn’t sit here forever; he needed to run. 

Jamison heaved, his lungs sucking in quick and startled breaths as he tried to plan out an escape. He’d run. He’d run towards the sun and not stop until the sun set. It was the best way out of town, and he could hide in the Burning Piles two miles off—the smell of burning rubber and brush would ward them off. Plus, that was another gang’s territory, they wouldn’t chase him that far. 

Jamie waited, he waited until the crunch of boots were gone and he was sure the brutes were on the next street over. He was fast enough to slip past them, he was sure.   
Mustering the last of his strength he stood on wobbling knees, the bag held to his chest, and bolted. Body heaving as he ran around the side of the leanto and into the street. A dog tied in the yard yanked on its chain and barked; it’s snarl and yelp as it pulled on the metal chain ringing through the buildings. Jamison lost his footing, stumbling with shock but not stopping as he stared at the snarling beast. Heavy breaths, he looked at the creature over his shoulder and ran to the tin house across the way—  
He was home free—  
Like a flash the lights were out—his vision dark as something was pulled over his head, the small filter of light shooting through in holed patched. Immobilized, his hands were grabbed, arms pulled up behind his back.

“Wait—!“ something hard hit him on the head, a sharp pain splitting through his skull before everything went black.

Jamison started awake, water or sewage being thrown at his face as he blinked back to consciousness. The start of him gasping for breath and sputtering back rancid water, lungs gasping for life. His head pounded, a fine cool feeling on his temple as his consciousness swam. Everything was black still and the foul smell of curdled blood curled into his nose. He shook his head as he tried to free himself of the smell. But it was wrapped around him—that same filtered light just barely scattering through.   
There was a bag over his head, a stained and warn bag that allowed him no sight, but predicted his outcome. The smell. The smell was— and there was a chopping. A thick, wet, heavy chopping sound. Metal on meat and wood. Sliding through—plopping, the crack-crack of bone and the wet sound of meat hitting the floor–

“Good, y’er awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on tumblr under Skepsiss


	4. A hand to the left is a right to a Butcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The Deed. So this is very gorey, and dark. If you’re prone to being upset by that kind of thing don’t read on. There is extreme violence and it actually made me upset to write this, even though I am glad it is done. You’ve been warned. This is… How JR lost his arm.  
> There will be 1 more part to this later, from JR’s POV)

A Butcher. The heavy hand of iron and clay coming down on the cutting block; the slap-slap-pull of rusty metal cutting through meat. The squelch, the squeal, the chop and grind of a chipped blade on bone. Cutting through the flesh. The calcium. The curdled blood, marrow, and muscle slopping into the ground. Grizzle gathered. Sweltering, squelching, sliding, slick meat. Wet and purple and red and lean.   
Dogs barked outside, the snarl and snap of jaws against clattering chains and the patting of their feet. The frail metal and pieced wood put together with will, and power, and shit and dirt. Piled high. Piled against rock and brick, and bodies, and meat.

 

Meat.

They were all just meat. 

 

His hand fell heavy; fingers caked in blood, the beds of his nails stained red and brown with the age of it all. Hands slick, muscles warn… calluses. But the blade fit perfect in his hand. The curve, the ditch, the old handle meeting the blade of the machete. It fit. It fit so well. Not just this knife, but every knife. Every blade, every gun, every bone, every neck, every spine. It all fit. It fit there to be crushed, and killed, and pulled and slap-slap-pulled apart. 

The smell was toxic. The heavy spray of blood blinding. Why a mask was needed. Why you had to breath your own and keep out the toxins. The stink of rotten meat, fresh blood—old wounds. You put it there, it’d get cut. Old, new, fresh, dead—alive. It’d get cut. It was the cutting block for a reason, and him a Butcher. A made Butcher. A man given life on a platter and he had killed it—

The meat for the dogs, or any beggar that came by needing work. A kid work keeping. A kid worth feeding—hell, he didn’t know what they did with the meat. He didn’t know, he didn’t eat it and he didn’t care. Meat was a liability. He was just the Butcher. 

“Good, y’er awake.”

His bosses’ tone; that short dark haired man, with a cheeky smile and a square jaw. He was intimidating, he looked the bit with a silver streak of hair jutting from front to back, a perfect line of chrome across his face and his eye that extended back through his hair. The Silver Fisher King, they called him. Silver Fish. They hid, they ate what they could and they reproduced. They made more. They made more silver, more, more, more, more, more, more. That disease was spreading across Australia. Not just him, but gangs. Death; men that brought death to towns and used it to rule. There were always going to be men like him, and that was who Roadhog served. Those men. Because death was better than dying. A Butcher was better than Meat. 

“Got some balls on ya kid, some real balls.”

Slap-slap-pull.   
The meat tumbled to the ground, the slide of a nice cut leg. Cow, pig, it didn’t matter. It was tough and lean and would feed a few. Slap-slap-pull.

The Meat whimpered. 

 

“Stealin’ from me. Me?”

Roadhog didn’t lift his head, didn’t turn his face towards the conversation one wall away. Just separated by a thin tin shelf. He didn’t care, he didn’t care to care. He was here to cut, to slap, to pull, to kill. Who it was; the name, the place, the age; he didn’t care. 

“I didn’t mean—“ Goes the Meat. 

“Didn’t mean? Kid, we know what ya mean. Yeah, nah. Ya stealin’, ya a fuckin’ snake—a rat. Ya think you could steal from me? And get ‘way with it?”

Slap-slap-pull.   
Roadhog’s breath came heavy, the glass of his mask fogged by his intake and outtake. The feeling deep in his ears, that wheeze and huff of his laboured lungs. Arm up—down—down hard. Through meat, through it all, just to the slitted wooden block.   
Slap-slap-pull—he pulled the last but free. Pushing it into the pile. Wet landing on wet; the meat tumbling, muted for noise.

“You fucked up.”

The Meat crying. Fat sad noises. The suck of breath, the break of anxiety. Young Meat. 

“Hey, hey now. No need for the water works.”

Slap-slap-pull.

“I’m ‘n a forgivin’ man. Kids gunna be kids, right? Gotta eat.”

The Meat is quieter now. The suck of tears, calming, the sobs stifling back. 

“Can’t do nothin’ though, can’t do that. Then just anyone gunna steal from Lincord. Gotta keep me in mind, huh?”

Slap-slap-pull.

“Cheer up mate, cryin’ ain’t gunna get you nothin’. Ya’s a man aren’t ya? Men ain’t gunna cry, not ‘ere. Be a whole lot different if you were one of my men. Tell you what-“

The Meat isn’t crying no more. It’s quiet now. It’s listening—some kinda halted words coming out of it.

“I’m sorry—‘m sorry—‘m—“

“Shut up—shut up and listen. Can’t get ya away with nothin’, ya want to get outta ‘ere alive?”

“Yes—yes sir.”

“Sir—sir? Sir, yeah. Lincord.”

“Lincord.”

 

“Grovelin’ a good colour on ya kid. Tell ya what though, tell ya what we do with thieves.”

The Meat’s real quiet. 

Slap-slap-pull.

“Boys—“ a blast of a whistle rings through the room. Rings to the bones of the dogs—the men, the meat. It’s sobbing again, it’s confused.   
The dogs are snapping outside, chains pulling, rattling the wall.

“Shut up!” The wall is kicked, sending the beasts into a fit of snarls, low and deep; knowing their place. Knowing when to shut up and listen. 

“Wait—no— I—what do I need tah do? I’ll do anythin’.”

Theirs a scuffle on the other side of the wall. Men bigger and tougher then the Meat. Meat made from fighting against something young; something that can’t fight back. 

Slap-slap-pull. 

Roadhog wipes his hands on a rag. The once white blood stained cloth—a tear of a thing from ages past. Flies draw to it. Bugs swooping and buzzing around the mess. 

“Please! Please tell me!”

He’s laughing. That boss, that big man, he’s laughing. His cheeky smile rounding the corner with that jet of sliver of his face; twisted with trigger happy glee. 

“Now I’m tellin’ ya kid, I’m tellin’ ya I’m a forgivin’ man. Ya’re gunna get off light. Gotta show the town what we do with thieves though. Ya good with h’alpin’ me out with that?”

“No—I—tell me tah do somethin’. I’m good at stuff—I can—I can build thin’.”

“Good with your hands?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s a damn shame.”

Roadhog is watching, watching as this bagged and wriggling skin and bone thing in pulled out. Dried up Meat. Tiny and frail, nothing to it. He steps back, makes room, watches. Watches as two big men, two men he knew some name for but didn’t care to remember their face. Big men. Big men compared to this young thing. 

It’s dragged out, kicking and screaming, legs wild as it tried to wriggle free. One of those meat bags over his head. The burlap stained and sticking; covered in grease and blood. Flies buzzing around it, him, the meat, his cloth.   
And he wipes his hands. 

Just some young thing. 

“Please!” It’s yelling. The Meat is crying; wiggling, screaming. 

The boys bring it over, wrestle with it. And the things got some strength, despite its size. It kicks its legs up, forwards and back—it manages to trip up on of the guys. Gets him in the knee—kicks and wiggles and gets punched in the face for it. It stops for an instant and starts up again. They gotta wrestle him into compliance. One of them holding its arms back the other wrestling to get its right arm out. Out long, out towards the ceiling. 

 

“Stay fuckin’ still—“

“Stop fighting!”

“No! Stop! I’ll do anythin’!”  
And laughter. Just laughter.

 

They manage. The guys manage to control him even as it writhes. Arm out, hand fisted as it tried to fight with all its got.   
Arm out. Arm on the wood. Dirty fresh flesh touching the cold blood there.   
The Meat sobs, yelling, crying. 

Roadhog finishes wiping his hands and looks at his boss. That wicked grin—silver up his face—the glint of a dark day shinning in him. He just stares at the kid. Just stares and laughs. 

“Stop fightin’ it kid. I told ya I was the forgivin’ type.”

Roadhog sinks his fingers into that ditch of a handle. His breath heavy, his arm up, glass fogged as he makes out the shape of him. Sees it clear and precise.   
Slap-slap-pull—-  
His arm is down. Down hard—down fast. Clean through! Slap-slap—

The Meat is screaming. The meat is screaming so loud the dogs start back up again.   
–pull.  
That arm. That dirty little arm limp in his guy’s hands. It falls to the ground with the other bones and muscle. The blood fresh, the blood warm spraying on them.   
The Meat yelling. The Meat yelling so loud it gets punched in the face again. It ain’t writhing no more. 

The dogs, the laughter and the yell. The room a mess of noise.

Slap-slap-pull. 

The Meat falls to the ground, curling up, frail fingers fidgeting and grasping at the raw wound. Sputter, spraying, vivid in red. 

“Get ‘im outta here.” Silver Fisher finally says. His laughter dying in his throat at the sight finally. No longer amused, no longer needing this young thing in here.   
And they’re wrapping the raw end of his arm up in a cloth—a cloth already stained in blood and tying it tight. And they’re picking it up, dragging it out. Its yells pittering into soft sobs.   
And they’re gone. 

 

The Butcher wipes the blade on the cloth, getting that red-red off of it. The rusty silver shining with the little light in there. He pushes the pile of meat to the side, kicking the arm away from the rest of it. For the dogs. Or whatever beggar wants it. The flies already dive-bombing the thing.

Slap-slap-pull.

They’re all just Meat anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on tumblr under Skepsiss

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted this on Tumblr.


End file.
